Spinning Yellow

Maybe

At the end of each month I receive an email from the NaBloPoMo people with the blogging theme for the next month.  I look forward to this announcement, reading with excitement the new prompt.  Each month I think, that's IT!  What a great theme!  THIS will be the month I start blogging again.  Who wouldn't be able to take that idea and run with it?  I start composing posts in my head, planning out what I will say when and how I will explain where we are and what happened during all the time when I wasn't blogging.  Slowly, I lose enthusiasm as the amount of information I want to convey gets larger and fills my head.  I think about all the posts I've started and abandoned.  My need to do things "right" and my natural procrastination as I feel overwhelmed, take over.  I think about how lame it is to blog sort of.  I don't want to listen to myself, why would anyone else?  By the time the first day of the month is over and I haven't blogged, yet again, I've already given up.

This month's theme is "MAYBE".  May Be.  How clever!  Full of possibility.  But also not a true commitment.  Perhaps May will Be the month!  Maybe I will start blogging again.  Maybe I will be able to write about enough to get people up to speed.  Maybe I will find my tribe again and people will actually be interested enough (or kind enough) to read here.  Maybe I won't feel insecure about my writing or whether my thoughts are worthy of blogging.  Maybe I will make the time for this... 

Perhaps.

Maybe.

 

Or Maybe Not.

This Post Brought To You By ....

Yesterday morning Scott decided to go outside before the bus came to get some fresh air and calm his nerves a bit.  It was pretty cold out so he put on a hat and gloves and then grabbed his basketball.  As I was prodding Jane, aka The Dawdler, to get ready in time for the bus pick-up, Scott came barging back into the house.

"Mommy!  You know how on TV they say, 'Call your doctor if you experience a sudden drop in blood pressure'?  Well, I think that's happening to me, because my face is all red and I feel like the blood is dropping out of it!"

I tried to keep a straight face, knowing exactly where he heard "that" on TV.

"Oh, no, you're fine.  You just feel that way because it is so cold outside.  That TV commercial is talking about something that would happen to a grown up if they took that medicine."

With that he calmed down, grabbed his backpack, and ran outside to catch the bus.

And I was left to wonder if tomorrow he'd ask:

"Mommy!  You know how on TV they say to call your doctor if you experience an erection lasting for more than four hours?"

Anyone who watches sports with their child will know what I am talking about here and how completely annoying it is to be inundated with these commercials.  I understand that the advertising dollars are lucrative, but wouldn't it be great if you could enjoy sports with children without having to feel like they see so much inappropriate garbage?  Cialis, Viagra, beer commercials, violent movie previews, news of sports stars being charged for sexual assault, the list goes on and on.  Matt and I have wondered why ESPN can't just have an ESPN For Kids station, I'd even pay for it, like I do for HBO, where parents would know that their kids, who love to watch sports, could view safely.  Now how do I make that happen before my kid starts asking me about Erectile Dysfunction?

*** Oh, and as another aside, "Viagra" doesn't even come up on spell check because apparently it is so well known that it is in dictionary! 

Oops!... I Did it Again

I just got off the phone with my at-one-time Professional Organizer cousin.  We were catching up and discussing the things we wanted to accomplish in 2010.  As I was complaining about not blogging and how on earth have I not posted anything in so long, I received a second message from the very kind and understanding Skye, a BlogHer Ads editor.  She informed me that they were, in fact, going to close my account with them, because, even though I have promised over and over that I will begin blogging again with some consistency, the truth is, I haven't.

So, my wise (and whip cracking) cousin, told me to write something right this very second.  I immediately felt panicked.  What could I say after such a long absence?  Don't I have to explain?  What about all the things that have happened?

But, NO, she said.  Just do it.  No big pressure, nothing complicated.  You owe it to yourself.  Start somewhere.

But what about the holiday decorations that need to be put away?  I have to shovel the two inches of snow that fell last night.  And take a shower.  What am I going to make for dinner?

Do I even remember how to type?  Or how to post?

Turns out I do. 

I am jumping back in.  Cross your fingers for me.  She told me to start today.

And so I have.

Right Where I Belong

Last night I had one of my recurring dreams.  The one where I have moved back into the house I used to live in as a kid.  I was so sure, as I am every time I have the dream, that it was real.  I kept saying, This time it has really happened.  It has finally come true.  Just like I knew it would.

Just like I knew it would.

I did go to the BlogHer09 conference.  I actually wrote a post (but didn't publish it) over a week ago about all the crazy things that happened leading up to going away.  I went.  It was fabulous.  I came back to the stress and the fallout.  But it was all worth it.

And I have to ask myself, "Why?"  Why did I go again when for so many reasons I shouldn't have?  And why is it so wonderful, an experience I thoroughly enjoy? 

I barely blog.  I am constantly on double not-so-secret probation from the BlogHerAds people because I don't post often enough.  My ads get turned off and I feel like a loser.  Why haven't I just thrown in the towel?

I've said this many times before: writing does not come easily to me.  And blogging can be overwhelming.  I feel that I don't get back to people, I don't read all of their posts, I am a bad blogging citizen, blah, blah, blah.

And yet, I can't give it up.

In my dream last night, I am telling my father, who was visiting us in the new/old house, that I knew this was going to happen.  That I had dreamed about it for years.  And here I was, in that house again.

Just like I knew it would.

As the third child, I could sum up a lot of my issues from growing up as: wanting to be heard.  To know something that my siblings didn't.  To be right.  Respected.  Worthwhile.

I spend a ton of time agonizing over decisions, second guessing myself.  I have wondered what I should be doing with myself.  Should we live here, in my hometown?  Should I get a job?  Should we have another baby? 

But when I go to the BlogHer conferences I feel like I am doing something right.  Like I am where I belong.  Even if I am not a very skilled writer.  Even if I don't post enough or follow up.  I know it is because I've always wanted to be part of a group of people who think about things as much as I do.  Who are connected to others by their ideas and depth of understanding.  Who value intelligence and wit, creativity and knowledge.

I feel like a better person when I among these people.

This dream I have is very similar each time I have it.  But this time it ended differently.  It was the most vivid it has ever been as far as feeling that it was real.  I was so sure.  So positive that this was the time it wasn't a dream.

As I wandered around the house, I had a sudden sinking feeling, instead of the normal smug, contented one that I was right and this had come to pass.  I looked out the front windows and thought: I don't know anyone who lives here anymore.  Who will my children play with?  They will miss their neighbors.  Who will I talk with?  Why did I move here? 

I've made a terrible mistake.

And I woke up.  Dazed.  Confused. 

Relieved.

I was right where I wanted to be.  In my own bed.  In my own house.  With my dog and my husband and my kids.

My life was the one I wanted.  Not the dream of going back to the time when I felt secure and idealistic.  I always wanted to feel like I had a sense of purpose and a place where I belonged.  Where I could feel both comfortable and inspired.  Important and fulfilled.  My life has turned out to be all that I always dreamed and hoped it would be.

Just like I knew it would.

What Time Is It? Summertime!

Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Ommm

Oh, hi there!  Look at this, it's summer already.  Spring kind of got away from me, and now? here we are with summer in full swing.  It is already the fourth official week, and it is going well.  Really.  I know I complain about summer, she and I don't always get along, but I am working on our relationship.  I'm learning to appreciate her better qualities even though some of them are the very things I find trying. 

Like kids not going to bed, putting sunscreen on unwilling children, determining what to feed people several times a day.  Cajoling reluctant children to attend swim lessons.  Having to fight about how many times per week, or even day, it is reasonable to expect a treat from the goddamn ice cream truck.

Wait, I got off-track again.

Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Embrace the summer.  Ommm

I was looking forward to summer, mostly because a good deal of this past year (if you mark time from my birthday in June from one year to the next) sucked. I don't really want to rehash it all, but I barely blogged because it just seemed like crappy thing after even more crappy thing kept happening, and I didn't want to be a whiner.

One of the worst things was that Scott hated going to school and was miserable pretty much every. single. morning.  On the very last day of school, as he was going to bed, I said, "Wow, you survived second grade!  Yay!  Now it is summer, you must be so happy!"  To which he immediately replied, "I don't want to go to camp!  I don't want to go to swim lessons!"

I felt like banging my head against the wall.  Please, oh please, no, summer could not be a continuation of the struggles. NO.

On the following Monday morning, after I took Scott to his first day of a week long basketball camp and Jane finished her swim lessons, I received a voice message from the therapist we were seeing for the OCD study.

"It occurred to me that maybe participating in this study is too stressful for you and your family right now," she began.  What, was she kicking us out?  I'd been trying to drop out of the study for weeks, and now, as summer started, she was telling me how stressful the whole thing was?

On Wednesday when we were supposed to go down for an appointment and discuss the situation, I told Scott it was time to go and he freaked out.  Screaming about not wanting to go and slamming his door.

That was it.  I called and canceled.  I felt instantly relieved.  Scott and I went out to dinner.  The next day, after the basketball camp, we went to the pool and he remembered that he could swim and that maybe the lessons wouldn't be so bad after all.

I decided that he and even more so, I, needed a break.  And what better time than summer to do it?

Now, nothing has really changed as far as Scott's issues, and I still find myself forcing him to do things he'd rather not, for his own good.  He's been having panic attacks.  But trying to be relaxed, to focus on the things we love about summer, is making us all feel better.

We've been swimming and walking to Grammy's house, playing outside and reading together.  Ate the first tomato and cucumber from the garden.  Watched fireworks with our cousins.  Saw my nephew perform in a High School Musical production.  Went to our friend's house for a big cookout and took care of our neighbor's pets.  I've been running and grilling by myself (without Matt's help).  All good.

Embracing the summer.

Matt is ridiculously busy with work, but we are holding our own here.  I even laid off trying to get the kids to do summer school work until this week, when I finally started the handwriting (Scott is learning cursive) and grade-appropriate workbooks.

So far, summer is the break we really needed.

I do have one summer goal though that I will not budge about and it is, shockingly, being met:

Everyone must wipe themselves after going to the bathroom.

And as Matt said to me the other day, "Really, if that is all that you accomplish this summer, then I think you can call it a success."

I absolutely agree.

Are We on the Same Side?

I had a long conversation with the school nurse on Friday.  I was leaving, after the last Math Explorations (where I get to come in every other week and play math games with the kids - you know you wish you could join me, Kristen), and decided to stop in to check about the papers I needed to complete for Jane's Kindergarten enrollment.  It took the nurse a few minutes to remember my face and connect me to Scott.  As she did, she looked at me seriously and asked, "Are you getting him some help?"

I explained about the study we are participating in and how I am torn about whether to continue.  My concerns being that although Scott has OCD-type issues, the behavior stems from anxiety (which probably originated from the SPD).  He doesn't do a lot of ritual type of activities aside from asking for reassurance and avoiding things.  And, quite frankly, he's eight, isn't it fairly common place for a child his age to check with his parents about things?

"Do you want to know my opinion?" she asked.

"Of course -"

"Let me just show you how he walks into this office.  He steps on this square, then this one, with his left foot, he avoids the trashcan and brings his arms in to make sure he doesn't accidentally brush against it."

"Okay -" my heart started to sink.

"From what I see here, he's very OCD."

"Okay ..."

She shared that her daughter, the same age, also has OCD.  That she takes her to a therapist right here in our town who specializes in school anxiety.  She went on to tell me about her husband and herself, and the anxiety and OCD issues they have.  How her husband has to kiss her in even number intervals; he is unable to give her one kiss, it must be two, or four. How he checks the locks, methodically, every evening.

As she was talking, I added my own experiences, nodding in recognition.  "Yes, I know", I said.  "My husband and I have issues, also.  We know."

She continued on about the things her daughter does before bed and how she has to sing a certain song twice while washing her hands.  I continued to nod and smile and chuckle a bit, in the nervous sort of way you do when things hit close to home.

"I'm glad you feel comfortable enough to laugh at this situation."

What?  Wait.  Does she think I am laughing at her, or her daughter?  That I don't take these things seriously?

"I can relate to what you are saying is all.  I appreciate you sharing it with me.  And I very much appreciate you taking care of and helping my son."

"I am all about helping the kids." She said a bit curtly.

And then I left.  After an hour spent in her office, I felt even more confused.

Scott has been doing well at home, lately.  He hasn't been crying before school and even though he often says he doesn't feel well, he will say, very logically, "I know I am not sick."  He sticks to his allotted number of nurse passes per week (4) and even made it through an entire week without seeing her at all.

He doesn't wash his hands repeatedly.  Nor does he avoid the trashcan anymore.  He does ask me to feel his forehead and sometimes take his temperature.  He likes to skip over the cracks in the sidewalk, but if you ask him to step on one, he will.  Today, he dug up worms with Jane in the garden.  He only asked me once if he could get sick and I said, "What do you think?" to which he answered, "No."

It is complicated, for sure, but I think part of the disconnect with the nurse, was that she thought I didn't think Scott needed help at all.  I do.  It is just that I am not sure this study, this course of action, is the right one at this time.

It takes over an hour to get to the city, then an hour for the appointment, then another hour back.  That doesn't even factor in traffic or time for lunch.  Scott misses half a day of school while Jane is at my mom's.  It is tiring.  And the doctor has made it clear that the objective of the Cognitive Behavior Therapy is to stop the OCD, and that is all that we can cover in the sessions.  General anxiety and related issues are not part of the study and cannot be tackled at this time.  In addition, we cannot have Scott see any other therapist or give him anxiety medication at this time, or else it could interfere with the study.

I haven't detailed the therapy session thus far, so it might be hard to understand, but I can say that I often feel that Scott doesn't fit into the requirements exactly.  He doesn't tap things repeatedly or recite numbers.  He might have obsessive behaviors but not necessarily the rituals or compulsions that they seem to be expecting.

I am wondering whether trying to stop him from asking if he is sick, to break the obsessive behavior, is going at it from the wrong side.  Like fixing the symptom instead of curing the disease or attacking the secondary result instead of the primary problem.  Why does he feel sick to begin with?  How can we help him to relax, find coping strategies, like getting outside for some physical exercise, or reading quietly to calm down.  I think he needs a more holistic approach, one that treats his anxiety with an understanding of SPD. 

When I told Matt about what the nurse said, he just shrugged, "She doesn't know what we've been through."  Which is true.  Perhaps she thinks we are in denial of his problems.  She did talk about how difficult it was for her to accept that her daughter had a disorder and required help from a professional.

The nurse is someone whom I have talked to many times this year.  She has been my ally, the one who warns Scott before firedrills and gives him a Tums when he feels sick to his stomach.  I know she is looking out for him. 

Maybe she was just caught up in her own situation and I mistook her candor as offering acceptance and understanding, instead of what it was: her opportunity to talk to someone about her own problems.

Tomorrow, Scott and I head back to UPenn for his next session.  I will be talking with the doctor about whether we should continue participating in the study.  

And if we decide not to, it won't mean that we've concluded that he doesn't need any help.  Just that we are always seeking what works best for him, what makes the most sense at the time, how we can help him to find his way. 

Because, even if others are not, we will always be on his side.

Eight and Five

It is Birthday Week here.  Jane turned 5 on Sunday and Scott turned 8 today.  I am officially a mom to two school-aged kids.  It is always a busy time with family gatherings and friend parties, cakes and treats to make for school.  I both dread and look forward to the celebrating, trying to be fair to both children while also not going overboard.  We are right in the thick of it with two events down and three to go. 

This year, I am struck by how grown up both kids seem.  Jane is so self possessed, a happy princess, announcing proudly that she is five now!  Ready for anything, exuding self-confidence.

I look at Scott and I realize what a turning point this is.  Eight, for me, was when I stopped being a little kid.  I have some memories from being five and six, and a few more at seven, but by eight, I really remember stuff.  Not just what happened, but how I felt.  It was the year that I realized there wasn't a Santa Claus, that I couldn't do everything and anything I wanted, that my mom and dad weren't always right.  I had my first crush, took my first trip without my parents, and got in trouble at school for not listening.  Big things.

Jane is coming into the wonderful time of Kindergarten and forever friends.  She still gets to be the little kid who can sing the days of the week, but also is part of the bigger kid world, getting on the bus, able to attend summer camps, and play with the older children.

Scott is entering the time when you learn that being a kid is often difficult.  You might still get to play a lot, but you have hard work to do at school, chores at home, and responsibilities.  You realize that many kids aren't all that nice.  That your mom can't fix everything.  That life is complex.

Eight and Five.

It is hard to believe.

Just Another Rainy Monday

** Alternate title: Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

It is raining again here.  We had a beautiful weekend, particularly Saturday, where it finally felt like spring.  Scott put on a short-sleeved shirt for school on Friday and complained that it felt strange having his arms exposed.  I've been home all day with my sick, soon to be five years old, daughter.  She had a fever and sniffles and wanted to stay in her pajamas, snuggle and watch TV.

Scott was not happy at. all. that she got to stay home.  He's been griping about everything lately.  I was considering doing a regular feature here called:  What's Scott torqued off about today? but thought that was kind of mean.

In the Groundhog Day version of my life, I get up later than I want to.  Go downstairs where Scott is already awake, watching Sports Center.  While I try to get some coffee, he starts complaining.  "I don't feel well.  I'm tired.  I feel sick.  Can you take my temperature?  I'm hot.  I can't go to school."

My day goes on, I craft blog posts in my head all day, while I do laundry, go to the store, do preschool drop off and pick up, make meals, clean up, blah, blah, blah.  All during the day I think, I will write that tonight.  Then night time comes, the flurry of activity of the afternoon blurring into homework-dinner-cleanup-bedtime.  And all I want to do is also go to sleep.  I have no energy left to write any of the fabulous (you'll have to take my word on it) posts that I worked on inside my head.

I haven't run in over three weeks.  I wanted to try this weekend, to see if it would hurt, but I chickened out.  Today I started the 30 Day Shred DVD.  It was alright, boring but quick.  Jumping jacks in place?  I need a DVD for that?  And I only did it once and I'm already sick of hearing Jillian say, "Those abs don't come for free!"  I'd much rather run, but I need to get back in better shape.  I may switch back to my tried and true The Firm DVDs, but would like to try this for the 30 days first.  I am curious how it will go tomorrow when I am sore.  I am not used to doing a workout on two consecutive days.

I finished The Time Traveler's Wife.  Thanks God.  It was really freaking me out.  I felt like someone was going to appear out of nowhere.  I appreciated the intricate story line, but there were things about the way she wrote that bugged me.  Sharing the story from each character's perspective was critical to developing the plot, but she didn't present each person's voice distinctly.  I found myself confused as to who was narrating, they both sounded the same.  And I have to admit, the idea that he shaped the young girl's life as an older man and then was her husband in "The Present" was a bit icky.  A 40 year old with an 18 year old, just doesn't sit well with me.

One more thing before I go fall into bed, hoping that Jane does not get sick.  I got a new hair dryer yesterday because mine kept shutting off from over-heating.  Such a small thing, but it took less time to dry my hair today and this is Huge for me!  I might even be tempted to wash my hair daily if I can dry it this fast!

It's the little things that matter, the ones that brighten up a Groundhog Day-ish rainy Monday.